


Camelot is for Lovers

by SomewhereApart



Series: OQHappyEndings2018 [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, OQ Happy Ending Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 10:56:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15241869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomewhereApart/pseuds/SomewhereApart
Summary: After a long day of trying (and failing) to find a solution for freeing Merlin, Robin decides Regina could use a little TLC. For OQ Happy Ending Week, Day two (Tuesday).





	Camelot is for Lovers

She’s been staring at those damnable books all day and all night, worrying herself to exhaustion over a way to free Merlin. A way to cure Emma. To repay her debt for her sacrifice. She rises early and returns late, and some days she doesn’t even descend from that stuffy tower to take her midday meal with the rest of them.

Robin doesn’t push, too much. He checks on her now and then. He brings her encouragement, and tea, and plates of food that often go uneaten. He watches their sons, and distracts them with rides on horseback, and increasingly elaborate games of hide and seek all about the castle.

Tonight, she misses dinner, so he saves a plate for her, piles it up with figs, and pomegranate seeds, and wedges of pear, and slices of ham. He steals an entire roll of crusty bread and a thick pat of butter, a hunk of cheese. Then he enlists Henry’s help in pilfering a carafe of wine and a pair of goblets, and carrying it all back to her chambers.

The boys make themselves scarce after dinner, and Robin lights lanterns and candles until the room glows, drips fragrant oils into warmers until the whole place smells rich and soothing.

And then he waits.

She doesn’t come down until late, with weary bags under her eyes, and pale skin, and one hand massaging the kinked side of her neck.

When she sees the room he’s prepared for her, she stops and gives him a look so soft he could melt.

“Oh, Robin… You should have said something.”

“You’d have groused at being interrupted,” he dismisses easily, reaching for the wine and beginning to pour. “And you’d have been distracted. I only wanted to make sure you came home to a meal and a bit of comfort.” He hands her a full goblet and asks, “Any luck?”

“No,” she grumbles. “A few promising leads, but not the breakthrough I keep hoping for.”

She takes a deep swallow as Robin’s arms circle her waist, his hands smoothing over soft velvet and softer curves. “You’ll find it,” he assures her with enough confidence for the both of them.

Her brow lifts and falls, doubtful and grumpy. Robin gives her hips a squeeze, steals her goblet to take a sip of his own and then sets it aside and draws her in close. He feels her exhale against him, her forehead falling to his shoulder, and for a few long minutes they just stand there together and breathe.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she whispers into the crook of his shoulder, and Robin lifts a hand to comb through the hair behind her ear. Her head tilts into the motion and then she tenses and hisses, pulling back a bit.

His grip slips down, fingers pressing into the tight muscles along her neck as he asks, “Are you sore?”

“Mm,” she confirms, hissing quietly again as he kneads a little more deeply.

“Sit,” he urges her, “Eat.”

Robin pulls back just enough to maneuver her toward the stool set beside the small table, his hand still cupping the back of her neck all the while. Once she’s seated and perusing her options, he begins to rub and stroke again, up and down the corded sides of her nape, thumbing into the curve of neck and shoulder.

She moans quietly and asks, “What about you? Don’t you need to eat?”

“I ate with the others,” he says, finding a tender spot and working it gingerly. “This is all for you.”

“You’re too good to me,” she murmurs, before taking a mouthful of buttered bread.

Robin smiles and tells her softly, “No such thing, milady.”

They don’t talk much for the next little while, Robin working sore muscles methodically while Regina focuses on eating (she’s suddenly ravenous, she says, and Robin bites back the urge to point out she’s had barely a bite since breakfast). He takes care to be thorough, to tend every little knot until it loosens, or until she recoils from the ache of too much attention over the more stubborn, painful lumps.

She slows in her eating once she’s cleared most of the plate, picking at pomegranate seeds one by one, slowly and slower still, letting out soft appreciative hums now and then. When he thinks she’s eaten her fill, he asks, “Would you care for a slight change of venue?”

She turns her head to answer, then seems pleased that the action doesn’t cause her any pain, and turns the other way, and then back again, testing. “Mm. Those nimble thieving fingers are good for something, it seems.”

“I recall you praising their many talents on more than one occasion,” he challenges, making her grin naughtily, dark brows waggling.

“True, true…” she teases back, relaxed now in a way that pleases him, but not nearly as relaxed as he knows she could be. Not nearly as relaxed as he intends to make her.

“If you’ve finished eating, my love, I was hoping to show you just how much these hands can do for you.” He nods toward the bed, where he’d already drawn the covers down before her arrival, a little bottle of oil on the night table ready and waiting.

“Oh, really?” she asks, intrigued as she rises from her seat and lets Robin pull her close and steal a kiss.

They stay pressed together as he walks her over toward the bed, as he nods and tells her, “You’ve been working so hard, day after day. I’m sure your muscles are all in twists from all those hours bent over those books and sitting in hard chairs. Let me see to all your knots and aches.”

She gives him that warm look again, the melty one she’d given him when she’d arrived, and one of her hands lifts to cup his jaw lightly. “I don’t deserve you,” she tells him with so much affection that he almost wants to overlook her lie.

But he cannot let her speak so ill of herself, so he shakes his head, and tells her, “No, my love, care and attention and soothing touches are _exactly_ what you deserve. Now, let’s get you out of this dress…”

Miraculously, she doesn’t argue with him—in too agreeable of a mood now that she has a belly full of food and wine, and a neck free of kinks. They rid her of that lovely velvet dress in no time, the heavy fabric pooling at their feet in between slow kisses and lingering caresses. His fingers hook into the waistband of her panties—cream-colored lace today, a luxury she’s conjured for herself to make this world a bit more bearable for her and exciting for him—and draw them down to join her dress, leaving her delectably bare before him.

Robin cups her breast appreciatively, giving a soft hum of approval, his thumb skating over a nipple before he steals one last kiss and then urges her to lie down on her belly. And then he gets to work.

He dribbles lavender oil down the center of her back and then works it into her skin with firm pressure until he’s popped every ready vertebra in her spinal column, and gotten a soft, popping crack from one of her hips. Regina rewards every release of pressure and discomfort with a soft moan or grunt or sigh, each one music to Robin’s ears.

The symphony of her pleasure is his favorite melody, and as he digs his thumbs in a line up either side of her spine, he thinks that maybe he ought to take her relaxation one step farther and cap off this massage with an orgasm. It’s been days since they’ve made the time to enjoy each other, and he finds that since his return he’s always wanting her. Always wanting to touch her, to assure himself that she’s really here, and that she’s still willing to take him inside her even after everything that happened with her wicked sister.

So yes, maybe, if her increasing bonelessness doesn’t make her soporific, he’ll let his hands wander a bit more freely.

She’s breathing deep and slow by the time his massage reaches her upper thighs, and he worries he may have missed his moment. That she’s nodded off under his attentions, and his more amorous intentions will have to wait for another day. Maybe he’ll rouse her in the morning…

Just to be sure, though, he lets his fingers graze over the peachy softness between her thighs when he works his way up to the top. Her lips curve, her lashes fluttering open, and it seems she wasn’t asleep after all. Simply enjoying.

Her voice is thick and sleepy when she teases, “Is this massage going to have a happy ending?”

Robin smirks and asks, “Would you like it to, my darling?”

Her eyes drop shut again and she hums softly, tells him, “Mm, I think I would, if your hands aren’t too tired.”

Robin chuckles and reaches for one of her thighs, shifting it gently until he has better access to the requisite parts. “I’m never too tired for that, milady.”

Regina’s breathing shifts, thickening with anticipation.

He continues to massage her thighs (he wasn’t quite done with that yet), but he focuses more of his attention high up, near her lovely backside. He lets his fingers graze her sex as if by accident now and again, enjoying the way her thighs tense and twitch at each little caress.

“Tease,” she breathes after several long minutes.

Robin breathes a quiet chuckle and finally lets his thumb part her. He strokes from her opening down to her clit, back up and back down, and she’s slick and hot beneath his touch already. When he coasts down to her clit and begins to circle it steadily with his thumb, she lets out a high-pitched little moan that delights him.

He starts lightly and slowly increases the pressure with each little spiral, until her breath is shaky, her toes curling, her tongue peeking out to wet her lips. His thumb sneaks up to gather more wetness from the source now and then, dragging it back down to slicken her little bud. Every time he does, her breath catches just so.

When she’s biting her lip and circling her hips against his caresses, her fingers gripping into the down pillow beneath her head, Robin shifts just a little and sinks his middle two fingers easily into her depths. She greets them with a low moan of appreciation that goes straight to his stiff cock, her jaw falling open.

Robin hooks his fingers just so and earns another soft cry and a whispered, “Right there.” Her thighs quake as he rocks into her slowly, lazily, calling up little gasps and sighs, and a moment later and breathy plea of, “Both?”

His thumb falls to her clit again, rubbing against it with the rhythm of his rocking hand—fingers in to thump that sensitive spot inside her, then out to grind against her swollen bud. Back and forth, again and again, her sex hot and slick around him, tempting and wonderful and the only thing in any realm that needs attention at just this moment.

He brings her up at a steady pace, no rushing tonight, no fancy tricks, just a slow-and-steady build of bliss between her thighs. Robin watches how the muscles in her back flex, the way her jaw trembles, the scrunch of her nose and sweep of her tongue. He listens to that symphony he so enjoys as it builds and builds to crescendo.

When she comes for him, finally, her hips lurching against his touch, she cries out his name. He doesn’t stop. In and out, in and out, his thumb on her clit, his fingers just so, until she’s burying her face in the pillow and moaning loudly, her fingers gripped tight, her hips twitching, her thighs tensing.

God, she’s gorgeous in her pleasure. He could watch her come for ages and never tire of the sight.

When she turns her face from the pillow with a gasped plea, he relents and slips his fingers languidly from her, giving her flushed and swollen sex an affectionate caress with the backs of his fingers.

For a moment, she simply basks, lying there and catching her breath, eyes shut, lips parted. Robin thinks perhaps now is when she’ll slip off into a much deserved slumber, and he’ll be left to take himself to hand to relieve the ache in his cock.

But a moment later she rolls, treating him to a dazzling, sated smile and holding out her arms to him.

“More?” she beckons, and Robin grins and moves to join her.

“As much as you desire, milady,” he assures, both of them reaching to remove his shirt.

And for a while, the troubles of Merlin, of Emma, of Dark Ones and Saviors, are the furthest things from either of their minds.


End file.
